Hell in a Handbasket
by HelloAnon
Summary: part one of...something. I will probably write more since I realized this was not going to work as an obscenely long fic. Basically Luther is huge jerk to Cropsy and he gets fed up. Have fun, will probably add more chapters later.


Luther/Cropsy

by

Matt

"Fuck." I mutter as the Riffs close in. I pull my Warlord close, a defensive arm around him as he cries. The Warriors walk away, smug, and before the Riffs can hurt Luther I push Dee Dee forward. That sets off the Riffs, and in the tussle I'm able to pull my Warlord out.

I pick him up, as if he's a princess, and the reasonable, ignored part of me says I'm never going to mean anything to him. I run as fast as I can back to our headquarters, carrying my wounded Warlord and the burden of neglected emotions.

We reach our home alive and relatively safe. I set him down on the couch and go to grab antiseptic and gauze. At some point he'd passed out, and he looks so sweet asleep. This is why I'd unintentionally fallen in love with him, "unintentional" being the key word.

He moans and I rush back with pain pills and a glass of water to find him clutching his head and stomach. I sit down the water and rush over.

"Fuckface." he says when he sees me. He stumbles to his feet and grabs my collar with his uninjured hand.

"Where the fuck are we, Fuckface?" he sneers. I cringe and set down the pills.

"Home." I say. He snorts and releases me, dry swallowing two of the painkillers.

"Retard." he says, pulling off his vest and hoodie, letting me bandage his wrist.

"I have to say, Idiot, you got us home in one piece. Want a treat?" he asks with a laugh. I tie off the bandage and stand up.

"Shut up." I mutter. His eyes go sharp and angry and he grabs my shirt again, pulling me down to his level.

"Don't say anything like that to me. Ever." he says, drawing back and punching me point-blank. His grip on my shirt keeps me from falling, and before I know what I'm doing the word "asshole" escapes my lips and I'm kissing him.

To my surprise he kisses back, pushing me against a wall. Luther is rough and clumsy, but I love the way it feels, the way he feels. He pulls away too quick for my liking and glares at me.

"You don't fucking say anything to anyone about this." he says.

"Who's there to tell? The Riffs got 'em all." I point out. Luther rolls his eyes and I glare.

"No shit, Retard, and they'll be on us faster than you can say fucktard. It's a miracle you're saying more than one word. Now shut up and sit down while I think." he says. I glare at him and grab his shoulders, slamming him against the wall.

"LISTEN YOU PATHETIC WIMP! I'M NOT A FUCKING RETARD, OR AN IDIOT, OR WHATEVER THE FUCK YOU WANT TO CALL ME! I'M MORE INTELLIGENT THAN YOU, CLEARLY, I KNEW THIS WHOLE GODDAMN THING WAS A BAD IDEA, BUT DID YOU LISTEN? NO, OF COURSE NOT! I ONLY EVER SAY SIMPLE THINGS BECAUSE MY THOUGHTS MEAN NOTHING TO YOU! NOTHING! I ALMOST LOST YOU OUT THERE BECAUSE OF YOUR EGOTISTICAL ASS AND THE ONLY REASON I HAVEN'T JOINED ANOTHER GODDAMN GANG IS BECAUSE I FUCKING LOVE YOU! IF YOU'RE GOING TO TREAT ME LIKE SHIT I'LL JUST LEAVE. YOUR ACCEPTANCE ISN'T WORTH THIS! FUCK LOVE! FUCK YOU! I'LL GO TELL THE RIFFS WHERE THE FUCK YOU ARE! HELL, I'LL BRING YOU TO THEM MYSELF, AND JUST TO SPITE YOU I'LL JOIN THE GODDAMN WARRIORS! I HATE YOU! I FUCKING HATE YOU!" I scream, and when I can scream no longer I feel fingers on my face.

"Cropsy…you're crying." Luther says. I let go of his shoulders, let him hit the floor, and storm off to my room.

"Cropsy?" I hear outside my door. I open it to find Luther, and I slam it in his face.

"DAMNIT CROPSY, WILL YOU OPEN THE GODDAMN DOOR?" he shouts. I throw my shoe at the door and sigh.

"Fuck off." I say, just loud enough for him to hear.

"Cropsy, please?" he asks. I throw my other shoe but stay silent, hoping he'll get the message. When I don't hear any footsteps I throw open the door to an empty hallway, and before I can close the door my line-of-sight is blocked by Luther. He kisses me, softly, and I startle. He pulls away quickly, worry on his face.

"Sorry, I…I didn't know how else to get you to shut up for a minute." he says. I glare at him, but don't close the door. He takes this as an invitation to keep talking, and so he clears his throat and begins.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry for being an egotistical asshole, and a pathetic wimp. I'm sorry I made you hate me, and I'm sorry you almost lost me. I'm sorry our brothers are probably dead, I'm sorry I never listen to you, and I'm sorry for calling you retard. Most of all, I'm sorry for myself. I'm sorry I don't deserve your love, and I'm sorry you ever fell in love with me, and ever had to go through anything because of me." he says. I sigh and open the door wider, offering him entrance. He walks in and sits down on my bed, and I sit next to him.

"Why apologize? Because if you're fucking with me to get me back on your side I will haul your sorry ass out to the Riffs with a formal apology and a request to join the Warriors." I say. He laughs softly and shakes his head.

"Naw, naw, you got it all wrong there. I just…look at it this way. If I didn't share your feelings, would I have kissed you back?" he asks. I roll my eyes.

"Wow, I have no fucking idea! This from the manipulative backstabbing asshole who repeatedly called me retard for my entire time with the gang!" I say, oozing sarcasm. His eyes instantly focus on me, something that still bugs me.

"GIVE ME A FUCKING CHANCE, OKAY? DID YOU EVER THINK I WAS TRYING TO HIDE SOMETHING FROM THE REST OF THE GANG?" he screams, grabbing my shoulders and digging his nails in. I cringe and he stops, his mouth just a tiny bit open, his eyes wide.

"Sorry. I didn't ever think that, Luther, because you were so good at hiding it even I couldn't see." I say. He grimaces and nods.

"I worried about that." he says, and I pull him into a hug. He jerks away, shocked, staring at his palm.

"Fuck, Cropsy." he says, displaying his hand for me to see. It's stained with blood, and when I touch the back of my vest it comes away red too.

"Fuck." I mutter. Luther runs out of the room and comes back with bandages, cotton, and antiseptic. He practically rips off my vest, pushing me onto the bed and dabbing at the cut.

"How bad?" I ask, and he grunts.

"Not too deep or long, just bleeding a fuck ton." he says, pouring the antiseptic into the cut. I flinch and hiss, but do my best not to move too much. He bandages my midriff and hugs me.

"We should get outta New York." Luther says. I nod.

"It's gonna be hell." I say. He sighs and nods.

"When is it not?"


End file.
